In which I live with my boyfriend.
So yeah, I moved in with Brian. I spent so much time being worried about getting all my stuff out of the apartment I was in before we left for Maine that I didn't really have time to worry about the fact that I'm moving in with my boyfriend. Though, to be honest...I didn't really worry about it anyway. I've been...not really looking forward to it (though I have) but more...waiting it out. The time before I moved in with him, that is. It's been very easy to fall into a routine of sorts; we have some adapting to do in terms of when we go to bed (for Brian, about 2-3 AM, and for me, somewhere between 10:30 and 11:30). But it's all just...flowing together very naturally.
An ENORMOUS source of stress for me in the past two weeks has been how much stuff I have. I hate it. I want to get rid of everything I own. Only, obviously not really. But I sort of do. I wish I didn't have such incredible issues with sentimental attachment. I had a few close to all-out emotional breakdowns the week leading up to leaving for Maine, through which Brian was wonderful and very calming and excellent at putting up with me. Probably a significant part of why I wasn't worried so much about the moving in with him part.
Things with Kelsey and Hannah have been...well, I kind of thought that once we were all living apart we'd be better fitted to go back to being regular friends. But any involvement I've had indirectly with them (indirectly because even when trying to clean out the apartment they did their level best to avoid actually seeing me in person) has been very cold and...cut off. I'm not really interested in blaming anyone at this point. I'm just chalking it up to yet again I'm terrible at maintaining relationships and I drive people away through my personality and various faults. Several such instances I can identify in retrospect, not that that does me much good. The last couple months of living together was such an exhausting cycle of trying to reconciliate/hang out like normal friends, and watching the two of them go off on whatever adventure/picnic/outting/drinking without really even saying good bye to me, and maybe half the time asking me if I wanted to go at the last minute, in a "I feel guilty for just leaving you so I'm going to ask out of obligation" sort of way. Again, not trying to place blame. I prefer hanging out at the home base, watching a movie or playing a game or just talking. They both prefer going out to drink or do basically whatever-and that whatever is usually stuff I'm not so into doing. I guess it was kind of inevitable.
Anyway, shit happens. Maine was pretty rad. A whole bunch of people showed up. I'm going to have many more people at my 23rd birthday than I was expecting, and that's really awesome.
I've been trying to actively be worry free. It's working, a lot of the time. Coming back from Maine, I didn't have a care in the world. Or rather, I had many cares, and an extremely calm mindset in which to deal with them.
It's already June.
An ENORMOUS source of stress for me in the past two weeks has been how much stuff I have. I hate it. I want to get rid of everything I own. Only, obviously not really. But I sort of do. I wish I didn't have such incredible issues with sentimental attachment. I had a few close to all-out emotional breakdowns the week leading up to leaving for Maine, through which Brian was wonderful and very calming and excellent at putting up with me. Probably a significant part of why I wasn't worried so much about the moving in with him part.
Things with Kelsey and Hannah have been...well, I kind of thought that once we were all living apart we'd be better fitted to go back to being regular friends. But any involvement I've had indirectly with them (indirectly because even when trying to clean out the apartment they did their level best to avoid actually seeing me in person) has been very cold and...cut off. I'm not really interested in blaming anyone at this point. I'm just chalking it up to yet again I'm terrible at maintaining relationships and I drive people away through my personality and various faults. Several such instances I can identify in retrospect, not that that does me much good. The last couple months of living together was such an exhausting cycle of trying to reconciliate/hang out like normal friends, and watching the two of them go off on whatever adventure/picnic/outting/drinking without really even saying good bye to me, and maybe half the time asking me if I wanted to go at the last minute, in a "I feel guilty for just leaving you so I'm going to ask out of obligation" sort of way. Again, not trying to place blame. I prefer hanging out at the home base, watching a movie or playing a game or just talking. They both prefer going out to drink or do basically whatever-and that whatever is usually stuff I'm not so into doing. I guess it was kind of inevitable.
Anyway, shit happens. Maine was pretty rad. A whole bunch of people showed up. I'm going to have many more people at my 23rd birthday than I was expecting, and that's really awesome.
I've been trying to actively be worry free. It's working, a lot of the time. Coming back from Maine, I didn't have a care in the world. Or rather, I had many cares, and an extremely calm mindset in which to deal with them.
It's already June.